


Six Feet Under The Stars

by SheOnceToldMe



Series: beneath the balcony [2]
Category: Larry - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Abusive Parent, Angst, Awkwardness, Compulsion, Fluff, M/M, OCD, Pancakes, Perfectionism, Routine, Strangers to Lovers, beneath the balcony, fear of commitment, larry - Freeform, one direction - Freeform, repetitive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheOnceToldMe/pseuds/SheOnceToldMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Key, door, jacket, floor. Walk, keep walking, kitchen, boy on his balcony, yeah – no, wait. What?<br/>(Sequel to Beneath The Balcony)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Feet Under The Stars

OK, ok. Ok. Harry’s ok. Harry’s doing fine. Everything is going the way it’s supposed to. Wake up, work - the entire routine. Everyday. Again and again. No interruptions, no surprises, really, everything is going great. Harry no longer brushes his teeth on the balcony or actually ever comes there. He just doesn't, And he’s ok. He didn't like blue anyway. All is alright. The days. The picked them up. The robe ended. There was… this.. something… the… he… and now he’s here. And life’s good and he’s ok. Except he isn't. And it isn't. Every morning as Harry forces himself to turn off the alarm and pushes himself out of bed. Every morning as he brushes his teeth and stares at someone’s dead face in the mirror. Every time he smears the same jam on the same bread to eat on the same walk downstairs, to work. He feels it. Every time Harry draws a new horizontal line on the paper. And every time he calculates the length of the vertical one. He feels the emptiness of the hole back, back there. In him. And it’s uncomfortable and depressing. It’s cold and pronounced. And it scares him a little. And now that he’s had his day’s without it it’s even worse. And every time, like right now, Harry comes home, well “home”, but yeah, home, he drops his jacket on the pile of shoes, still not owning a coat hanger; he still hasn't even bought a coach, because, what’s the point? And he will walk into his kitchen and drop his bag on the way. And he will cook, no, no. He will cook – he will not bake pancakes. But. Not. Yeah. And he sits alone. And eats. Because it’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s how it’s all scheduled. And also, like, if he doesn't, he dies. Harry’s ok. 

The house feels haunted, really. Not really of course. But the chair on the other side of the eating table. The playing card he found underneath the freezer but never actually picked up, the kitchen. The bed he is laying in right now; cold. Damnit. This was supposed to be his life. He should’ve never messed up in the first place. This is how it’s supposed to be. This repeat. Ok. Yeah. Until the alarm goes off and why again?

Key, door, jacket, floor. Walk, keep walking, kitchen, boy on his balcony, yeah – no, wait. What? Harry does a double take but Louis doesn't de-materialize, he’s still there. Standing on his balcony, staring at Harry. His eyebrows are drawn and he doesn't look ok.  
Harry’s feet start moving. Did his brain stop working? And he finds himself standing in front of the balcony door within seconds. Rain has started pouring down from the clouds and Harry grabs hold of the curtain with his left hand. The hoodie wearing… stranger-yes, raises his eyebrows. But the boy’s life is not his worry, not his world. Harry’s right hand finds the doorknob, pushes down. And he’s standing on the balcony, facing Louis, before he can blink.  
Harry’s brain definitely stopped working. Because it’s what he feels in his heart that makes him step forward a that little bit further and wrap his arms tightly around the smaller boy. An aching. I missed you. Harry doesn't say it out loud. Louis hugs him back just as tightly. And the cold rain falls down on them silently. Slowly but surely, and without either of them having moved, Harry’s blouse is just as soaked as Louis’ hoodie already was. And it makes him wonder in concern he shouldn't have how long the boy had been standing outside. Waiting for him. Harry tightened his hand gripping Louis’ upper back into a fist. 

“I’m, I’m sorry.” Louis murmurs into Harry’s neck. A second passes. 

“Two months.” Harry states, trying not to let any emotion in his voice betray him.  
Louis pulls out of the hug, grabs Harry’s face with both hands and stares at him as if he’s trying to find something. Harry stares back just as much. And he finds the purple swelling around the cut on Louis’ cheek. And he’s missed watching the structure of Louis’ face.  
Louis sighs and Harry shivers. “Harry please, I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Don’t you understand? Louis. You weren't here and I was ok. Then you were here and I was ok I was so goddamn ok. Then you left and, and. I was ok! Look at me!” Harry’s feet stamp and he wants to pull his hair out. He feels suddenly so angry. A rage bubbling in his stomach. 

“Harry.”

“Two months. You were gone for two whole months. And now you’re just back. Are you just back? How are you just back. You can’t. You’re not allowed. 

“Harry.”

“I was ok.” Harry protests. He feels like he’s fighting something big and he doesn't like it. Like he’s struggling to breath. And it makes him want to flail his arms in defense. He doesn't, not yet. But, Harry looks up and his eyes travel over Louis’ body once more. He sees his hair sticking in wet locks to his face. He sees his big eyes. His- his. His blue eyes. “Why?”

Louis blinks but his blue! eyes stay focused on Harry as he bites his lower lip in thought. “Harry.” He begins, spreading his arms in a gesture Harry doesn't feel like translating. 

“I, I tried to make a living for my mother. I tried to get her in rehab. To get her a job. Anything. But she refused to do anything, and she got even madder at me.” Louis’ voice catches in a higher pitched version on the last words and he takes a deep breath. “I made my mind up. I made a decision.” He explains, wiping tears disguised as raindrops from his eye.

“What?” Is all Harry gets out.

“I realized that this is my life, that I get to decide and that I should choose for myself. I left. And..” Louis reaches out to lightly touch Harry’s cheek. “With you..” He cuts himself off, falling into a rambling train of words, trying to explain something Harry doesn't get. Trying to make his point.

“I just, I had my mom and I had to try, I had to at least try. And I’m so sorry I had to leave you. I- I know it mustn't have been easy for you. Hell.” He wipes his hair out of his face with a shaking hand. “I thought I was doing the right thing. But clearly wasn’t. And, god, my mom. “ A sob breaks from Louis’ moth and it makes Harry’s heart jump. 

“Can I stay? Will you let me stay again Harry? Please.”

Louis wipes at his tears and it reminds him of the long night in bed. Harry turns around and walks back into his apartment, holding the door open expectantly. 

 

Drops of water dropped, one after the other, soundlessly onto the carpet. No pattern, just falling- letting go. Drops of water dropped from the young boy’s being. Onto the doormat in front of the glass door. He hadn't moved, just stood there. And as Harry turns around he still is, standing in the same place. Harry fidgets then he sighs. “You can’t leave again.” He states.

Louis’ face opens in an almost animated show of surprise, but before Harry gets to fully take in that emotion it turns into confusion. 

“You let- I can stay?” Louis asks slowly. Saying every word with care as if the situation they are facing is as breakable as it is. 

“Yes, yes please. But Louis..” Louis is now stepping further into the room and as he comes closer Harry lowers his voice. “don’t leave. I can’t go through that again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

 

It takes as long for Louis’ cut to heal as it takes for Harry to adjust to this life again. They take slow steps in the dance and Louis is patient. He holds back until he thinks he’s sure Harry is ok with things. Louis never asked to cook dinner and Harry is so thankful that Louis understands. Even though he’s at home and could’ve prepared it while Harry works. He understands. And they both try. 

And it’s after one week and four days- Harry isn't keeping track- that Louis proposes to get a job as well. They are on the balcony, laying on the matrasses Louis made Harry pull outside. Warm under a ton of blankets watching the night sky. Harry can feel the warmth of Louis’ body radiating. Can see his curves forming mountains underneath the blankets. Harry can feel Louis’ Louisness; his endless hope vibrating of his bones, making Harry feel fuzzy. Harry can feel the fire that burns brightly but not pain- or hurtful more like a steady soft fire, a warm one. Harry can feel it where their palms touch, where their fingers link, where their hands hold onto one another underneath the blankets. Because that’s what they do. It all makes Harry feel so full, so whole, so good and he feels a smile creeping up his cheeks every time he pays too much attention to what the hell is happening. Louis is back. And If it was up to Harry he would never have to leave ever again. Louis turns his face, looking back at Harry who’s cheeks turn red from being caught staring. Harry stares at Louis, at his slightly out of focus beautifully sculptured face. Slightly unfocused because of how close they are laying. Louis’ breath tickling Harry’s mouth. And as he stares he can see it in Louis’ eyes. His blue blue blue blue eyes. He can see that Louis never wants to leave again either. And Harry could die of happiness right there and then on the balcony. 

“So.” Louis starts, raising his eyebrow a little. “I thought, you know, now that we’re quite settled, maybe it’s time for me to find a good job and help with the payments.”

It takes Harry a few seconds to progress this before he tries to brush Louis’ proposal off. But Louis doesn't drop the idea. He pushes himself up a bit by his elbows, letting go of Harry’s hand which is ok because Harry knows the warm tiny and slightly sweaty hand with its slim fingers will find Harry’s again.

“But like, Harry, if we both make money we can start saving up some each month, we can start saving up for big things or fun things. We could chase dreams.”

“What dreams?” Louis sounds really excited but Harry is just confused.

“I've always wanted to be a singer Harry.” Louis says. “Like, for as long as I can remember. I just never got the opportunity, it never came to… you know.” There are only a pair of scars left and a tiny circle of fading bruises on his chest. But his nightmares are still there, and they are still just as scary for both of them.

“Maybe we could buy an instrument and travel around London, trying out for record labels.” Louis continuous after a beat. We. 

“That’s my dream.” Louis says softly, looking up at the few stars bright enough to beat the city lights. Harry grabs hold of his hand, making Louis lay down again. 

“What’s yours?”

Louis asks turning his head again in favor of looking at Harry. He has a small smile on his face that makes Harry believe that he is accepted and can be his self. And he can. And he shortly, mentally, notes down that that must be home. 

“What?”

Louis chuckles, “Your dream?” .

“Oh, um.” Harry looks up at the stars there must be at least eight of them visible. But the longer he looks, the more appear into his sight. Dancing gracefully in the whirly darkness. He could base a frontage off that; he should definitely look at the stars more often. But no matter how long Harry gazes at them, his mind stays blank of an answer to Louis’ question.  
My dream? He’s never set his goals higher than needed to go through life in a survivable way. Going with the motions. And here Louis is, talking about hope and adventures and dreams.  
“I- I don’t think I have one.” Harry answers finally, shocked. 

“Oh, oh that’s ok.” Louis squeezes his hand. “You should think about it though. We will find one. There has to be a thing you really want to do.” Louis smiles at Harry, Harry smiles back. Future.

“I’ve never even thought that far, like I just try to go with the motions until I’m old enough to die. What’s so great about dreaming? Most of the time they won’t even become reality.” 

Louis’ eyebrows furrow. “Harry, it’s, dreaming is like – daring to dream,-“ A sparkle appears in his blue blue blue eyes and he shifts to look up at the stars again. “It gives you a purpose. It makes you feel like you matter, like your life is worth the while. Like you’re not just one insignificant little suffering piece of nothingness in the world, in the universe. It gives you reason to keep going, to fight, to live on. Yeah. It makes you feel like you matter.”  
Harry turns back to eye Louis’ facial expressions but is surprised to find Louis looking right at him as he speaks. Harry’s head is fuzzy with what Louis told him. His words drifting like clouds through his head. It confuses him a little. But, he thinks he understands. Harry’s eyes connect with Louis’ eyes, his blue eyes. 

“That must be great.” Harry mutters before he leans forward a little, slowly. Their noses bumping slightly as their lips finally touch one another’s. Their breath warming one another’s mouth in the cold air. Their lips, Louis’ thin ones, Harry’s thick ones moving together, dancing, like the starry starry night.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Have i ever written something this fast?? Nope. I had so much fun writing it. I hope you enjoyed reading :) xx. Please let me know if you got the time. I’d love feedback. Maybe you can teach me something so I can improve my writing. Both this story and Beneath The Balcony have songs at the end and both times it wasn’t planned. Oh well. 
> 
> Also, this thing contains the word ‘ok’ 31 times!!! Wey hey.
> 
> Bye. xx


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